


Holding On

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6695872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this post by @stendun (http://stendun.tumblr.com/post/143548349813/aaron-does-this-thing-where-he-grabs-on-to) - a little meta ficlet about Aaron holding on Robert's arm during a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> Really tiny ficlet!

He holds. He grips. He feels his fingers turn to lead and then lose all feeling completely because he won't let up on the pressure - his hand on Robert's arm. Today it's the leather of his jacket, tacky to the touch and crumpled. Yesterday? The day before that, and that? Months and months of this now. This unreality. Cotton. Wool. The towelling of a dressing gown. Warm bare skin. But underneath that it's blood and bone and man. The man he loves. Finally. The man he loves. It's fantasy still, to be with him, to not have his emotions snap and tear. To not wake up alone and wonder if today he gets to have a piece of him or if it’s another day of longing. Loneliness.

So when they kiss, Aaron holds on. If it’s a dream, he wants to control it. If it’s fleeting he wants to feel it in the bones of his hand afterwards. If it’s not fantasy – and he keeps reminding himself it’s not – then he has to hold onto it. Grip it like he’s on the ledge and won’t fall. Who knows how long it will last, this feeling? If life has taught him anything, it’s that it won’t. It can’t. So he holds on.

And it’s Robert’s arms that he holds onto. The arms that come around him at night and feeds the pressure he wants - of pulling his back against chest. The arms that slip around his middle and stay there loose and casual in a way so natural he couldn’t have dreamt it. And it’s Robert’s arms at night that he touches, that he feels safe in. It’s his arms he sinks into and presses his mouth against the pepper freckles of his shoulder. It’s his arms that he wants to leave fingerprints on, to be remembered, to be loved. To be permanent. He holds on. Grips. Thumb print smudged on his bicep. I’m not letting go. Don’t let me go. (He doesn’t say it. He’ll never say it.) He holds on. Kissing. Tight fists of fabric. His, finally.

Robert takes his waist sometimes and his face and then now and again just rests his palm on the hard nub of collar bone because it's close enough that he can feel the flutter of Aaron's pulse without signposting the sentimentality of putting his hand against Aaron's heartbeat. How does Aaron know the reason for this placement of hands, this fondness for absorbing the rhythm of his heartbeat? It's in Robert's eyes. Of course it is. Everything is in his eyes, every ugly truth, every complication that makes loving him and forgiving him and seeing him - really seeing him - possible. He’s too afraid to look too hard, afraid to look away. But he holds. He grips. He feels his fingers turn to lead. Kissing him. It won’t last. It can’t. So he holds on.


End file.
